Chapter Text
When the earliest signs of sunlight descended upon the infirmary ward, Ned awoke, and, as ridiculous as that may have sounded, he had a brief moment of absent-mindedness in which he thought that he was still back at Winterfell.
He thought to himself not to make any loud noises, so as not to wake up his family who could be sleeping next to him.
And then the fleeting instant of forgetfulness was crushed by the recollection of where he truly was.
His father was dead. Brandon was dead. Even Lyanna was dead.
The moments of obliviousness were the worst. Having to remember that they were dead was like learning of their passing all over again. They had been dead for years now, and even so had died a thousand times since. The most impressive thing of all was that, for Ned, it did not matter how many times he had to tell himself of their deaths, each time presented the same bittersweet, dull pain that never diminished or went away.
Ned accepted that he would have to carry that sadness with him for the rest of his life. It was only by keeping the sadness close to his heart that he also kept the joy of having loved them. There was death in his sadness, but there was life as well. The memory of what was gone was just as strong as the memory of what had been.
Ned once believed that all those years of happiness and joy by his family’s side had made him who he was, but the truth was that he had become something else. He learned to tell himself things that allowed him to get on with his life. This instinct of survival was not natural; it was something that came with the unexpectedness of waking up with each new day when he thought that he was not capable of doing so. Ned learned how to compose himself like someone sewing a tapestry: he waited, he presented the world with what they needed of him, and then he weaved strands together, strands of love and loss all united... it turned out that refraining himself from suffering also detained him from remembering everything, from his father’s veiled tenderness to Brandon’s laughs and Lyanna’s smiles. Ned could not possibly live without those reminiscences, and so stopped shying away from grief, and though he never felt quite whole again or ever replaced what he had lost, he understood that the painful feelings did not make the joyful ones less special.
There always should be room for happiness. Allowing himself to feel pleasure again, for whatever reason that pleasure came, did not mean that he was betraying the old familiar sorrow that he carried around his shoulders like a mantle. Eddard pondered that love presented itself in his life in many ways, be it on a son’s love of his father, a brother’s of his siblings and even on a man’s love of a woman; and all those loves made his life richer instead of vacant. He was man, made of flesh, blood and spirit, and to live was what his body was made for.
Ned looked up when the door to his bedroom was opened.
It was his brother, with a weary air to him.
“What happened, Ben?”, Ned asked, instantly fearing for the worst.
“News of the worst kind”, Benjen replied sadly. “Your companion, Lieutenant Arthur… dead. He was killed yesterday, and it was said that he was aiding a woman and her children, she was Lady Ashara’s friend, Princess Elia Martell… she’s dead too, and so are her little ones.”
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
Elia Martell was born in the autumn, when the sun was warming but not burning.
Arthur Dayne was born in the spring, on a starry, starry night.
Elia was daughter, sister, wife, mother and friend.
Arthur was son, brother and companion.
Elia was smart, kind and stoic.
Arthur was skilled, virtuous and loyal.
One was unbowed, unbent, unbroken.
The other rose higher than anyone else.
Elia was the sun.
Arthur was the star.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.
Ashara lied down on the ground, her legs incapable of moving, her body unable to breathe.
Tears streamed down her face and left her breathless; and her wailings were so deep that they caused her empty belly to ache.
She had never felt pain of this kind, so sudden and already so cavernous. It was a lie, what they said about one not really feeling pain when one heard the news about a passing. Sometimes the loss was so unfathomable that it could not really be ignored or brushed off. Sometimes its effects were very abrupt.
Ashara suspected that the wound of a sword would have hurt less. She wanted the sword; she wanted someone to shoot her dead, or to be drowned, or to be hanged. Any sort of death would be less painful than the one she had experienced.
Her brother. Her best friend and her children. All gone.
The children.
The little ones.
Butchered.
Ashara retched down when the image of that struck her.
There was no justice in this world.
In other lives, Ashara was utterly alone. In other lives, she decided to go with the ones she had lost. In other lives, she could find no light in the darkness.
But in this life, things happened in a different way.
“All the angels are singing for them, my lady”, Wylla whispered on her mistress’s ear when she discovered the woman passed out on the floor.
Wylla lied down next to Ashara and hugged the other woman, through every spasm and sob, the maid did not let go.
“Cry all you want. It is good to cry. I am here for you”, Wylla said to Ashara, stroking her friend’s hair with tenderness and love. “Do not fear.”
Ashara cried the whole night, and she did not cease for the next day, or for the following week. She cried and did not have the disposition to get out of her bed, and the tears were so many that she kept on crying even when there was cause for joy.
Consuelo, whom Ashara had once despised and ridiculed, finally arrived from America, bringing Allyria along.
“They are gone”, Ashara said when Consuelo’s arms were encompassing her in a warm embrace. “I cannot live without them.”
“Oh, my darling”, Consuelo spoke to her with a kindness Ashara did not think she deserved. “You are stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
“I am a weakling. I was never as strong as Arthur, as stoic as Elia or as steady as Allen. I am weak.”
Consuelo grabbed Ashara’s chin and made her look at her.
“Did you not grow up in this place? Do you not have people to care for and after you? Did you not hold this place together when times were tough? You did. You persisted, day after day, even when you were alone, even when you thought that there was no reason to persist anymore. You will keep on persisting.”
Ashara gasped.
“I could not possibly…!”
Consuelo steadfastly held her sister-in-law in her arms.
“You will”, Consuelo repeated, very sure of her convictions. “You will learn to find solace in the ones that are left and in yourself. And with time you will learn to look for joy in the things you have got.”
Ashara hardly believed Consuelo’s words, but an instinct moved her and she soon found herself hugging back her sister.
Allyria barely understood whatever tragedy was ensuing, but she still picked up flowers from the garden and went to visit her elder sister in her bedroom.
“Your hair is so beautiful”, Allyria said in awe of the long raven tresses. “Will you let me braid it? Please?”
Ashara did not have the heart to refuse such an offer, and reluctantly allowed her little sister to do so.
When Ashara felt Allyria’s small fingers moving around her hair, the memory of Elia doing the same many years prior resurfaced and sprang tears upon her eyes.
Allyria hesitated when she saw Ashara bawling, but when she turned to leave she found the maid Wylla standing by the door, all watchful gaze.
“Go on, little lady”, Wylla encouraged her. “She is crying because she needs it.”
Allyria braided Ashara’s hair, and fixed the flowers in it.
“Good morning, Captain Stark”, Allen Dayne greeted his guest wistfully. “Good news finally arrived, as I am glad to communicate you of the end of the war.”
Eddard knew that Allen was not glad to communicate him of anything. All gladness was hollow when one considered the millions of lives lost on all ends.
The worst of it all, Eddard thought, was the fact that all those lives were wasted because of reasons so superficial that no one could really enunciate all of them properly. Of course, most of those lives had been lost due to loyalty or duty, and Eddard thought that there was a sense of honour in that, but then he reasoned that ordinary men should not have had to give their lives in loyalty to powerful men who cared not a whit about them, or in duty to causes that seemed more like caprices.
Eddard knew that the French were calling them une géneration perdue.
“At last”, was everything that Eddard thought appropriate to comment on.
“Indeed”, Allen replied, never losing his dignity.
They were silent for a long moment, sharing their thoughts on the aftermath. There was a sense of understanding and respect between the two men.
“Lord Dayne, I never got the chance to properly talk to you. Firstly, I offer my condolences on the passing of Lieutenant Dayne. He was the bravest man I ever met, the most loyal, and the best in every sense. I will not forget what he did for me. I feel deeply for your loss.”
Allen smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.
“Thank you, Captain. Your words are comforting.”
“And also… I would like to express my gratitude for the way you handled the whole altercation I brought upon your household. For that I am sorry.”
“Do not feel sorry, Captain… after everything you have done for my siblings, it was more than clear that I would stand by your side during your trials. You have ensured mine and my family’s loyalty forevermore.”
Eddard nodded in respect, touched by that man’s confidence in him, to which he felt unworthy.
“But if I may ask you so… I would never want to impose, but the circumstances have brought me to it. My sister, Ashara, is still unwell. She cries all day long and wastes away in grief, in places beyond my reach. I do not wish to intrude and ask what is your relationship with her, however, I do know that you hold some importance and meaning to her. I care not if you are committed to another; I ask not of you to disregard your vows in favour of my sister; I only ask of you to try to help her.”
“I will be honest with you, my lord.”
“Please do.”
“Whatever she feels for me, it is mutual. I would marry her if I could, I would have married her after a week if I could have done so. The Lord knows that I want to stay by her side until the end of my days, but my wishes are only for myself to keep. I cannot marry her and ruin an innocent woman’s reputation; I cannot marry her if I am to be stripped of my honour. But you are right. After everything, I am indebted to her in so many ways, and I do owe her my support in this time.”
“So will you stay, at least until she is better?” Allen repeated, daring to hope.
“I will stay for as long as she needs me to.”
And he did.
The last rays of the twilight sun caused the entire world to become endlessly violet.
The horses were eating grass, oblivious to the whole chaos surrounding them.
Nearby, Ashara took as much comfort as she could in Eddard’s intimacy.
“Is it selfish of me to realize that I miss the person that I was around them as much as I miss them?” Ashara asked to the only one who still made her heart beat faster.
“No”, Ned replied quietly. “We all miss little bits of ourselves.”
Ashara was silent, contemplative.
Ned talked to her, because he had been through what she was feeling now.
“Let the person you were go, bury her with them, but do not forget her. Months, perhaps years from now on, when you are living a new, happy life, make sure to remember them… and when you do, you remember her as well. You remember how it felt like to be her, and you remember all that she laughed at and all that she hurt about.”
Ashara cried for the last time.
Eddard only left Starfall when he learned that his nephew was still alive, living on a French orphanage. By then, Ashara had chosen life.
Oberyn Martell returned home after months of raging in wastelands, and his anger never really weakened, it only simmered beneath his smooth surface.
Nevertheless, when Ashara found herself among his bedsheets, she wondered if he was healing himself with her presence as much as she was healing in his.
He held her middle and breathed in the nape of her neck even after they were done, until they dozed off.
“Thank you”, Ashara breathed, feeling her body coming alive again. “I needed that.”
Oberyn smirked, not maliciously. “Anytime, my dear.”
Ashara laughed and playfully smacked his shoulder. Oberyn grinned, rubbed her naked shoulder and then went back to kissing her skin, all thoughts of sleep gone from his mind.
Ashara closed her eyes and delighted herself at the sensation.
Oberyn would never marry her, Ashara knew. Still, she enjoyed their liaisons and found some degree of happiness in them. Sex, Oberyn taught her, had the power to cure, and, as such, was something to be honoured, not to be ashamed of. God made their bodies for that.
Oberyn was a generous lover and a dear friend; Ashara was grateful to him.
“Allen, are you quite sure of your decision? I think you are taking a bit of a risk, if I may say so”, Ashara reluctantly protested. She did not want to harbour vain hopes.
Allen smiled kindly, firm in his verdict.
“I am sure, and I still intend to have plenty of heirs, thank you very much. You will have to be the breadwinner of this family for them.”
Ashara smiled the smile of a girl who was finally getting recognition.
“Alright, then. I will be the best estate manager this land has ever seen”, she said, and Allen grinned from ear to ear.
“That’s my girl”, he said appreciatively, kissing her forehead. Ashara accepted his affections with an open heart.
The door to Lord Dayne’s study was opened, and Penn announced Consuelo in.
Allen got up from his chair in excitement.
“Oh, Consuelo! Come here! Ashara, we have news-“
“I am afraid the news will have to wait, as I must go away to another engagement. See you at dinnertime, I promise”, Ashara quickly excused herself, while all three people watched her go with some kind of pride.
“She has spirit”, Consuelo commented, with Allen’s hand resting on her swollen belly. “I knew she had it in her.”
“Indeed, she does.”
“What is it that you were going to tell her, dear?”
“Merely that our Edric shall go by Ned. I think she will be happy to hear about it.”
Even Penn was a tad touched.
“I offer congratulations in the name of the staff, my lord, and my lady. And if I may speak on a more personal note: that is a good choice for a name, sir.”
Allyria, of course, squealed in excitement when she heard about it, and made Wylla take her to the village to buy gifts for the baby.
Ashara unexpectedly liked Catelyn. The woman was sensible, prudent and gracious; basically she had every trait that Ashara esteemed. Ashara knew that they would never be the best of friends, but there was nothing wrong in that. Not all acquaintances were meant to be close, after all. Still, Catelyn was a good woman, and Ashara approved of her company.
Ashara still glanced a second too long at Catelyn’s husband, and there was no point in trying to keep herself from it, for the memories he had given her were too precious to be forgotten. She would always cherish her time with him, and would always think of him with affection. She would carry the love she felt for him in her heart until that same heart stopped beating.
But Ashara discovered that her heart was big, and in it there was room for many loves. There was room for the people that were gone, for the people that were with her at the moment and for the people that were still to come.
When Eddard introduced her to his long-time family friend, Barristan Selmy, over tea time, Ashara put down her cup and smiled at the man, amusing herself to see an old man blushing at her attentions. Ashara enchanted herself, feeling it all begin again.
She noticed how proud of her accomplishments she was when she told Barristan of her work with the estate and saw him perching himself on his seat in interest. It was at that moment that she realized how fulfilling her endeavours were, and she smiled quietly, only to herself, and, for the first time in her life, Ashara really loved herself. The feeling was ephemeral, and there were days in which it was not enough and the losses all crashed down on her, leaving her crippled with sadness and indignation, but most of the times, it was enough, if only barely so.
As Eddard once told her, life was for living.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
- In Flanders Fields, John McCrae, 1915 -